


Devil Inside Me

by Will_Write_4_Coffee



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Karen Page, Canon Continuation, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Frank Castle has some explaining to do, Karen and Matt are friends, Karen is pissed as hell, Mentions of Foggy Nelson, Mentions of Matt Murdock - Freeform, Post Season 2, and a lot of them, because of course it will, but first there will be FEELINGS, but she also got new shoes so, maybe a few weeks or months after, this is post season 2 of TPS, this will eventually have smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_Write_4_Coffee/pseuds/Will_Write_4_Coffee
Summary: A gun and a pair of black boots.Their similarities were adding up.In which Karen Page gets a new pair of shoes, and starts to lean into her rage.(Title is also a song by Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes)





	1. Chapter 1

Karen saw the boots in a store window and laughed.

Not a true laugh. It wasn’t funny. But it was just shy of ironic, and that would have to do.

They were her size. Black, thick soled, laces all the way up with a zipper on the inner ankle. The box labeled them as ‘utility work boots’. Some would call them shit kickers.

She called them hers.

The first time she wore them out, she had a new appreciation for heavy black rubber that gripped the sidewalk with every step. She’d never felt sturdier as she ran errands around the city. Her sneakers weren’t bad, but they didn’t support her the way these boots did. Didn’t weigh her down like these boots did.

Didn’t make her think of him the way…

She cut the thought off, shaking her head in the detergent aisle.

It was a lost cause.

A gun and a pair of black boots. Their similarities were adding up.

*

It started with a drink. A dive downtown that was no Josie’s but it’d have to do. She’d been out, gathering statements for Foggy’s next case, and after all the horrible shit she just had to record, decided she needed a shot or three of whiskey.

Karen ignored the bartender’s interested gaze as she knocked her drink back.

She wasn’t in the mood. Wasn’t sure when she’d be in the mood again.

Cutting herself off after three, she dropped several bills on the bar and left without a word. Her boots thudded on the hardwood, adding new acoustics to her stride she immediately appreciated. It wasn’t a dainty, darling _tap-tap-tap-tap_ of ballet flats or kitten heels. It was a stomping, grinding, _move or get moved._

Zipping up her black hoodie, she adjusted the strap of her bag—relishing the weight of her .380—and tucked her hands into her pockets as she walked.

They’d followed her out. She knew.

Of course she knew.

She couldn’t remember a day she wasn’t aware of sharks in the water.

It was their mistake thinking she wasn’t a shark too.

Silent and subtle, Karen reached into her purse, circling her hand around her pistol’s grip.

“Hey,” one of them called, closer than before. “Hey, you leavin’ already?”

_Walk away,_ she thought. _Walk away before this gets bloody._

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to y—”

Karen stopped, boots grounding her in place. “I heard you.”

Turning, she glared at the two men in baggy coats. One wore a Yankees cap, and she decided he’d go first. Karen was a Mets fan.

“Really fellas? Exactly how do you think this is gonna go?” She squared her shoulders, feet wider apart than usual. A fighter’s stance.

The two losers chuckled, and rage boiled in her chest.

This day, this week, this whole fucking year had just been brick after brick on her shoulders, crushing her under the weight of brutal reality. She’d had enough of this shit.

Karen Page was not powerless.

“You picked the wrong girl to follow,” she seethed.

The one in the Yankees cap stepped closer, cold glint of amusement in his eyes as he sized her up. He thought he could take her.

She waited. Every hunter had to have patience.

“I dunno, I think we picked the right one…” He said.

Pulling her gun from her purse, she brought the handle down on his nose, breaking it with a satisfying crunch. Blood exploded across his face as he screamed, and she aimed, taking the safety off.

Barrel pressed against his temple, she pushed it deeper into his flesh, moving him backwards. Shaking and blubbering, clutching his face, the guy stumbled back.

“Told you,” she said. Her grin was sharp—more of a baring of teeth. “Now, how about you two run home before I put a few holes in you and go on my merry way?”

They didn’t have to be told twice.

Scrambling away, they disappeared around the corner.

But Karen stayed put, gun lowered, hands shaking just enough she couldn’t deny it.

It took a full thirty seconds for her to understand the gnawing, aching pit in her stomach was.

Oh. It was disappointment.

She stared down at her boots, noticing the wet shining droplets arching across the toe.

A gun, black boots, and hunger for violence.

Their similarities were irrefutable now.

*

The boots became her good luck charm.

Or shit magnet.

Perspective was everything.

An almost mugging, a few shifty and aggravated informants ready to put her through a wall out of paranoia, and a taxi driver that missed the address she gave three times, all while staring at her modest cleavage in the rearview mirror.

Each and every time, she wore her boots. And each and every time, she made it out unscathed.

Unharmed, but angrier and angrier.

Rage became her baseline.

Matt noticed first—probably due to his super senses. He didn’t say anything to her about it, but she did find the kitchenette stocked with chamomile tea and decaf one morning. It only made her chuckle as she sipped her regular coffee.

Foggy noticed too, but his way of helping was to keep feeding her and telling her how amazing she was at everything she did. Even when she messed up a file or forgot an email, he was right there telling her she was a Boss with a capital B.

It didn’t make her anger dissipate but at least she never had to worry about lunch. It was the little things.

Karen walked home at night more, challenging the city to throw something else at her. It was a quick high—the rush of adrenaline that still didn’t fulfil her, but at least made her giddy as she locked her apartment door behind her each night.

She started glaring at people on the subway. Gritting her teeth and flaring her nostrils if anyone got too close to her. She started picking opponents in her mind—the frat boy staring at her legs for too long. The gym rat with no understanding of personal space. The filthy old man in by the beer cooler at her favorite corner store.

It still wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

Changing into skinny jeans and her boots, Karen yanked her coat on before heading out of the office. She’d lied, not caring if Matt could tell. She’d said she was meeting Trish Walker for a drink and a friendly game of pool.

There would be drinking, but Trish was in DC all week, and Karen wasn’t in the mood for pool.

After four whiskey doubles, Karen decided to try her luck once more.

The walk to her apartment was 12 blocks. She smiled as her boots thudded underneath her when she hopped off her barstool.

8 blocks in, and she was clenching her fists in her coat pockets. People passed by, but no one hardly looked her way. She started to feel invisible, but in a good way. Like she could slip in and out of the world. Like maybe everything she’d experienced, all the bullshit and pain and heartache could be left on someone else’s doorstep for a change.

But then a shadow emerged from around a corner, following her at a distance that felt practiced—not too close as to be noticed right away, but not so far that they’d lose her.

Karen’s shoulders went rigid as she tried to casually glance over her shoulder.

Black jacket and hat, with the brim pulled down low over his face.

She slowed her gait, testing him.

The man slowed too.

He was following her.

Darting around the next corner, she waited with her hand on her pistol.

His darkened silhouette was there in an instant, and Karen didn’t hesitate.

“Stop right there or I’ll put you down,” she said, aiming for his chest.

The man froze, but kept his face hidden.

In the yellow street light, she caught the angle of his jaw, and the slightest curve of his mouth.

Her stomach dropped.

“Frank?”

Tilting his head up, he locked eyes with her. “Hey, K—”

It happened in a matter of seconds. Swapping her pistol to her other hand, and making a fist. Bracing. Aiming. Knuckles making strong, solid contact with the soft part of his nose.

Frank’s head snapped back from the impact, and he stumbled a step or two. Pressing his hand to the side of his nose, he groaned.

The gnawing in Karen’s stomach disappeared. Her urge was satisfied…

And replaced instantly with remorse.

“Oh God,” she gasped, hurrying to put away her gun.

Frank wiped the trickle of blood with his thumb. “Damn, you got good aim,” he said. “Been practicing?”

“Shit, Frank, I’m…” She reached for him, staring at the damage she caused. “Is it broken?”

“Nah, I think I’m alright.” He sniffed, and shook his head. Glancing down, he smirked. “New shoes, huh?”

Karen blinked. “What? Oh,” she said, looking at her feet. Warmth rushed to her cheeks. “Yeah, well… I had to replace the ones I gave up.”

In the darkness, they stayed there, with Karen gripping his shoulder and Frank smiling at her like she hadn’t just cold-cocked him.

“You forgot something at the hospital,” she murmured.

Frank nodded once. “I know.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Depends. You gonna punch me again?”

Karen grinned. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Tugging on his coat, she started for her apartment, Frank close at her side.

Maybe her boots were good luck after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angst is real folks. You've been warned.

“Thirsty?” Karen asked, retrieving two beers from the fridge. She was fairly certain she knew the answer already.

“Sure.”

Frank paced around her apartment like he’d done so many other times before. He fit in her space like a big leather chair—noticeable, but not out of place.

Karen popped the caps off each bottle but before returning to hand him his beer, she put a handful of ice into a hand towel and twisted it into a pouch.

“Here,” she said. “For the pain—” She handed him the bottle. “—And for the swelling.” She passed off the ice.

Frank smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. A rumble of thunder cut off quickly.

“Thanks.”

Sipping her beer, she eyed him. “Frank…”

“You, uh… You stopped working for the Bulletin, huh?”

Karen paused. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

“That ‘cause of me?”

She cleared her throat to cover up a snort. “No. Surprisingly.”

Frank nodded once. He knew before she said it.

“Stuff with Matt…” Karen took a seat at her kitchen island. “It got messy. It wasn’t his fault, but…” She shrugged. “Didn’t mean there weren’t consequences.”

Brown eyes darkened under his heavy brow ridge. “Murdock got you fired?” Frank shook his head. “Sonofabitch…”

Karen set her beer down. “That why you’re here? To talk shit about Matt? ‘Cause that’d be pretty rich after that speech you gave me in the hospital.”

“Kare—”

“No, you don’t get to—” She clamped her jaw shut, sighing. “Let’s not, okay?”

Frank swigged his beer. “No talk about Red. Got it.”

The urge to punch him returned ten-fold. It wasn’t just about Matt, or what happened at the hospital, or the months apart. Frank’s absence was a raw nerve, exposed to the elements. And his return, no matter how she wished differently, would always ache painfully before it became soothing.

It had been a while since they’d reached the healing stage.

“What are you doing here, Frank?” She whispered, terrified he’d use it as an excuse to leave.

His trigger finger tap-tap-tapped on the neck of the bottle. “I, uh… I wanted to make sure you were…” Frank stopped. “Shit, I dunno Karen. I… I got tired-- Bone tired of runnin’.”

“What does that mean?”

He locked eyes with her. “What d’you think it means?”

Karen gripped her beer, waffling between chucking it at his head and gulping the whole thing down.

“Don’t play vague, Frank. We both know you’re not a subtle man.”

He grinned, barely a quirk of his lips, but it was there.

“Yeah, ‘s not really my strong suit, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Kare, I’m…” He shifted his weight, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “I felt like I owed you. An apology. A thank you. An explanation.”

“All of the above.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah.”

She waited, thumbnail carving a strip out of the damp label on her bottle.

The seconds ticked by, silence slowly strangling them both.

“Forgot something at the hospital, huh?” He whispered, barely audible.

Karen smirked. “Seemed like it. If that girl—”

“Amy.”

“—Hadn’t walked in…”

Frank took another swallow from his beer and stepped closer. “That wasn’t how I’d intended to say goodbye.”

He was close enough she could smell him—hops, aftershave, gun oil. It was better than the hospital antiseptic and iodine, the stale cotton gown they’d put him in.

“Don’t,” she blurted out quietly. “Don’t do it now if it’s another goodbye, Frank. I can’t…” She bit her bottom lip, pain keeping her grounded. “I can’t keep saying goodbye to you. It hurts too much.”

A deep frown cut into his forehead, sad eyes searching her face. “Hey… Hey, look at me.”

She didn’t.

“Karen.”

She yielded.

“The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you,” he murmured, voice gravel. “I thought… I mean, Jesus Karen, look at me. What about me screams ‘right choice’ huh?”

Karen rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that self-depreciating crap, okay? We both know it had nothing to do with your self-esteem. You’re scared. Admit it, Frank, you’re scared as hell, and the only way you know how to cope is to run.”

“You know how much shit I bring to people’s doorsteps? How dangerous it is—”

“Oh come on, Frank!” Her bottle clanged abruptly on her counter. “We’ve been through this already!”

“I can’t risk you, Karen,” he snapped. “I can’t. I cannot let something—anything—get to you. You understand? Anyone but you, Kare. If… Shit, if something happened, I’d… I’d never…”

His hands shook, bottle slipping in his fingers, barely holding on.

“There’s another way, Frank. There’s another path other than this war, this storm in your chest, you can—”

“There was someone else.”

She thought for a moment it was a hallucination. But when he locked his gaze on hers, lips twitching with unformed words, she knew.

“Okay…” She said, at a loss as to what else to say.

Frank’s trigger finger jerked again. “Beth. A bartender at this place in Michigan. She… She was good. Kind. She…”

Karen felt woozy. Like when she was a kid and would see a classmate with a bad cut or broken finger.

“She opened up her life to me, and I… I got her hurt, Karen. You see? I got her shot, ‘cause I just couldn’t leave a fight alone. I wasn’t even trying, I let my guard down, and this woman…”

Lifting her fingers to her lips, Karen shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Karen, she got hurt because of me. She nearly died because of me. What lesson am I supposed to take away from that, huh? ‘Don’t worry about it, Frankie boy, shit happens’?”

She was barely listening.

Another woman. Frank had tried to find normalcy… Peace… With someone else.

Part of her was happy for him. It was a sign he’d been heading in the right direction, and if he had found that path once, he could find it again.

But another part… the largest part, the part that curled her hand into a fist the second she registered it was him in that alley, wanted blood. His blood, all over her knuckles. Wanted to wreck him the same way he’d wrecked her, time and time again.

Sliding off her bar stool, Karen bent down to unzip her boots and yank them off.

“I’m taking a shower,” she said. “Don’t leave.”

He tracked her, confusion plain on his face. “Karen?”

In the doorway to her bedroom, she turned. “You just told me you tried to have a fresh start with someone else, when all I’ve ever wanted was to be that for you.” She stared at him, exhaustion and hurt weighing her down. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

As she turned away, she called over her shoulder, “I mean it, Frank. Don’t leave.”

She was 90% sure he wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! And as always, comments are adored and appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

Wrapping her towel around her, Karen tucked it tight at her chest and pulled the curtain back. The steam in her white tile bathroom swirled, thick and heavy and oppressive.

There seemed to be a theme to the evening.

Just as she finished massaging lotion into her rosy cheeks, the bathroom door creaked open, revealing a dark shadow lurking behind her. Past experience made her heart jump into her throat, but she steadied herself.

“Can I come in?”

She squinted into the mirror at the foggy, water-stained swath of his face. Frank wasn’t the pushy type…

“Sure,” she said, uncapping her leave-in conditioner. Pouring a little into her palm, she added, “I’m a little surprised you didn’t bolt.”

“Told me not to.”

Something warm spread under her first two ribs, seeping into her diaphragm.

He stayed.

Running product through her wet hair, she waited, watching his reflection as he leaned back against the windowsill next to the small radiator, folding his hands in front of him.

“’M sorry, Karen,” he said, voice nothing but gravel. His gaze was low, either on the backs of her knees or the knobs to her vanity, she couldn’t tell. “I…” Frank cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have told you. Not like that. Not…”

His trigger finger tapped the button on his sleeve over and over.

“Did she make you happy?”

His tapping double timed.

“Yeah. For a bit, yeah.”

“Did you want to stay with her?”

“Maybe. Thought about it.”

Karen turned to face him, leaning back against the sink.

“Did you love her?”

His trigger finger stopped.

“No.”

Dark eyes bored into hers, forcing the word all the way to the pit of her stomach.

_No._

Inhaling steadily, Karen glanced away. She needed to get her bearings, but everywhere she looked she felt even more off balance.

A knot formed in her throat, squeezing her air supply. She expected tears-- hot, angry ones to spill over her lashes.

Karen was shocked by the rough chuckle that flew from her mouth. Laughter like broken ice clattered against her bathroom tile.

“You’re such an asshole,” she said, coughing the knot out of her throat.

Frank nodded, fighting a small grin. “Yeah. Yeah I know.”

“I could punch you again.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if y’did.”

Focusing her gaze back on him, she studied his face. Healed scars, a couple fresh cuts, the faint purple along the bridge of his nose thanks to her…

The wounded, aching animal inside her recognized the one in him. Found it in the dark glimmer in his eyes, the tight coil of his spine.

Karen reached out, fingers stretching to grasp his thumb. It was a flimsy hold, but it did the trick. In two steps he was away from the window and moving effortlessly into her space, hovering centimeters from every possible point of contact.

“I don’t love Matt, Frank,” she whispered, staring up at him. “I never did.”

“I know. Kinda wish you did.”

“Why?”

“It’d be easier…” Frank stared down at her, gaze bouncing between her eyes, her throat, her lips.

“Easier for who, Frank?” Her grip on his thumb tightened, pressing against the joint.

“C’mon.”

“Easier for who?”

“Don’t. You know what I mean—”

“No, I don’t. I don’t, Frank, because you haven’t talked to me.”

“Karen,” he sighed.

“Just say it, Frank. Tell me—”

He rolled his shoulders, averting his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It does, just tell me what you mean. Fra—”

“You,” he forced out. “Easier for you. For me. Both of us.” Looking down at her pale fingers wrapped around his wide, blunt digits, he exhaled roughly. “C’mon Kare, you know… You know this isn’t… It won’t—”

“Is it that hard to imagine, Frank?” She cut him off, trying to catch his gaze. “Why is it so easy for you to walk away? Every goddamn time—”

“What, you think I like this?” He glared down at her. “Think it’s fun for me?”

“There’s gotta be something, a reason, I mean…” She shook her head. “Jesus, Frank, it can’t be all fear. You weren’t afraid with Beth—”

“Stop.”

Karen fisted the edge of his jacket, holding him close. It wasn’t intimate. She wanted him cornered.

“You tried with her,” she continued. “You wanted something else, something more. Is it me?”

“Jesus, Karen—”

“It’s not Matt, and it’s not just Maria, I know that—”

Frank’s stare was the center of a tornado. Dark and unpredictable. Karen barreled through anyway.

“—It’s not, it can’t be, otherwise you never would have tried again.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wouldn’t have been the same.”

“Then you look me in the eye and you tell me. Tell me, Frank. What’s stopping you? What makes it so goddamn easy for you to run?”

Ducking his head, Frank swayed on his feet, side to side at first, then forward slightly, bumping into her bare knees. His free hand came up, clutching the side of her face.

Now they were both trapped. Each the perfect snare for the other.

“I hurt people, Karen.” He said it barely above a whisper. “I kill people that deserve it and I hurt people that don’t, and I don’t know where the line is anymore. I don’t know where I end, and the skull begins. And what, you… you think I get to walk away from that? I should get to leave the blood on my hands at the door just cuz I love you?”

The words weren’t a realization. They were a confirmation.

But that didn’t mean Karen wasn’t affected.

Her nails scraped against the callouses on his palm, digging in and holding on tighter than before.

“You’re not the only one with blood on their hands,” she said, staring up at him.

He scoffed. “Just cuz you don’t call the cops on me and turn me in—”

“I killed my brother, Frank.” She waited a beat. “I was high as a kite, and I crashed our Jeep. Hit a guard rail and flipped. Kevin bled to death before the EMTs got there.”

Frank’s expression fell, sorrow etching into every plane of his face.

“And two years ago, I killed one of Fisk’s men. His right hand, Wesley. He kidnapped me, and I unloaded my clip into his chest. I still remember what his dying breath sounded like.”

Frank’s finger twitched against her earlobe.

Holding his gaze, Karen continued. “You’re not the only one who’s lost people. And you’re not the only one who’s done horrible things.” Tugging on his jacket, she leaned into his space, keeping an inch between them. “You think fighting your war is hard? Try abstaining. With nowhere for that rage to go but down.”

His jaw ticked like he was chewing on the words he wouldn’t let out. Finally, after an eternity, he leaned down.

At the first brush of his lips across her cheek, Karen’s eyes fluttered closed, a sigh escaping her.

“’M sorry, Karen,” he whispered near her temple.

She wanted to break. To lean into the hurt, to really feel it if only to let it wash through her.

Instead she tilted her head, lips dangerously close to his.

“Told you to make it mean something, didn’t I?”

With half a nod, he was right there with her.

It was gentler than she expected. Softer. Reverent in a way she hadn’t realized she deserved.

Holding her firmly, Frank tipped her back and…

_Oh._

If anyone had told her before there was a way to feel devoured and worshiped at the same time, Karen would have laughed.

She wasn’t laughing now.

Letting go of his hand, she wrapped her arm around his neck, keeping him as close as she possibly could. Frank had the same idea, bracketing her face with his palms, thumbs pressing against her pulse points.

Blood roared in her ears, but she could still hear the urgent noises rumbling deep in his chest.

If he was thunder, she felt like lightning. Sizzling, crackling, ready to strike.

A perfect storm, right there in her tiny apartment bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment <3


End file.
